


Write Your Name On My Heart (And That'll Be The End)

by tamethewoods



Series: The Art Of Owning A Bloodied Crown [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied Slash, Injured Sam Winchester, M/M, Mild Blood, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, The Decline of Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:34:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamethewoods/pseuds/tamethewoods
Summary: “The consequences for not following the rules would be severe and deadly for Sam, and this was especially important because it was hell; there wasn’t a lot of rules to follow in the first place.”OROnce a year, Sam crawls up from Hell to visit Dean, and once a year, Dean feels like his world is finally together again.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: The Art Of Owning A Bloodied Crown [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929952
Comments: 19
Kudos: 253





	1. Write Your Name On My Heart (And That’ll Be The End)

All things considered, Dean hated Flo’s.

The rusty, neon-lit dive had been around for what Dean would have said centuries. He didn’t even know if Flo was still alive, let alone a real person, and he wasn’t intent on finding out.

The booth they always met at was a soft, mint green. There was a rip in the laminate and a wobble in the table, but when Dean sat there, that wasn’t what he was paying attention to.

The sky in rural Oklahoma brought red summertime storms, rain puddled everywhere water could get to. Townspeople and passerbys were drawn to Flo’s during the hellacious storm system, seeking refuge from the rain, but even then, more then half of the booths and tables sat empty.

That’s what you get for a diner out in the middle of nowhere.

Vast fields laid in 360° view around Flo’s, green everywhere you look. The portal seemingly dropped out of the sky, and that’s what Dean would have assumed, but he knew better. Knew that the only reason he saw it was because he was looking for it, knew that Sam really was coming out of hell, conceptualizing out of thin air to meet Dean at Flo’s one time a year.

One time. That’s it.

Dean suggested once a month, but that wasn’t allowed. The consequences for not following the rules would be severe and deadly for Sam, and this was especially important because it was hell; there weren’t a lot of rules to follow in the first place.

Sitting down, Dean nervously wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, looking around. He didn’t know why he was nervous; it was only Sam for cryin’ out loud, not the fuckin’ Queen of England. He hadn’t seen him for a year, though, hadn’t looked at his dimpled smile or scoffed at the plethora of hair products lining the shower shelf. He hadn’t seen him since Sam took his descent to darkness.

Dean saw Sam’s floppy hair through the glass door. He reminded himself to breathe.

Sam walked in, looked around, spotted Dean and broke out into a smile, nearly jogging over. Dean forgot how tall he was. Sam slid into the bench.

“Hiya Sam,” Dean whispered, unable to do anything else.

“Dean. Hi.” Sam breathed in awe. Dean didn’t know where to go from there.

“How have you been?” Sam stared, then laughed.

“How have I been? Dean, I’ve been the dominant ruler over the whole kingdom of Hell for the good part of a year, and you’re wondering how I’ve been?!” Sam scoffed. Dean grinned, looked at the menu sitting just in front of him and laughed a little, a choking, wet noise that made his skin crawl.

“Sam, I’ve missed you. Missed you so much it hurt.” Sam’s laugh subsided. He reached across the table to grasp Dean’s face, palm against cheek.

“Me too, Dean. Me too.”

They talked for hours, about Baby and Cas and hunting and food. Dean ordered a burger with steak fries. When asked, Sam politely declined (apparently his body didn’t require food anymore as fuel. Dean didn’t ask what his body _did_ require for fuel now.)

They talked for hours, and Dean really lost himself in the conversation. For a minute - a blissful few hours of luxury - he forget where Sam was headed next, what daunting tasks lay at Sam’s feet constantly, perpetually.

Eventually, the setting sun shone through the grimy windows and Dean became filled with dread.

“Take care of yourself, Sam. Promise me.” Dean spoke.

“Dean, you know I can’t do that-“

“Sammy. Please. _Promise me_.”

Sam looked forlorn, but made the impossible promise anyways.

“Okay. Only if you do too.”

Dean squeezed his hand tightly on his thigh and nodded his head. His left hand connected with Sam’s right in a clasp, the world swirling in between their locked eyes. Sam released his hand, stood up, smiled (a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the sky) and left.

Later that night, only in the safety net of his impala did Dean cry.

xxx

Exactly one year later, Dean found himself in the same diner, at the same booth, with the same, gut-wrenching feeling; he was excited to see Sam, but knowing what he’d been through the last year put Dean on a worried edge, the kind that made his fingernails disappear - the same worried edge that only came when Sam was involved.

He heard the bell above the door tinkle to life, heard the clunk of boots before he even looked up.

It was Sam. Deans heart leapt.

Sam saw him, sitting like a nervous wreck, and came over. Dean noticed Sam looked a little tired, a little worn, a weird bruise on his cheek, but same smile, dimples and all.

“It’s good to see Hell still respects you enough to leave you in one piece after a whole year,” Dean joked around the lump of anxiety in this throat, keeping his eyes from darting around.

“Whether or not they want to admit it, they need me,” Sam yawned.

Just like last time, they discussed how the world was going; the new ins and outs of gun safety, how Bobby was, what new creatures Dean had come across and respectively slaughtered.

“We’re both a year older, can you believe that?” Sam mused. “I know it’s only been a year, but I feel like I’ve aged a millennium.”

“Yeah, you look like it too, you old grump.” Dean countered, slapping (but not really slapping, just a gentle, soft bump that he’d deny until he died) his shoulder good-naturedly. Sam looked out the window, then down at his untouched plate of eggs.

“It was good to see you, Dean.” Sam confessed. “Sometimes my brain, it forgets that I’m still, well.... me. Sam.” Dean looked up at him.

“Keep on keepin’ on, buddy,” was all Dean could choke out (he wanted to say _come home, Sam. Don’t do this to me. I love you. I miss you)_.

“Tell Bobby hi for me.” And then he was gone.

If Dean ran a few too many stop signs blowing out of town, he didn’t care enough to notice.

xxx

The third year was a little bit harder, if that was even possible.

Sam was still the same, technically. But physically, Dean noticed right away, gut wrenchingly, that hell had taken its toll on Sam.

Black bags sat under bloodshot eyes. His (Dean’s) thin zeppelin tee hung off his frame like a drape in the wind. Sam plopped down on the worn, green seat and tried his best to muster a smile, but Dean knew Sam like the back of his hand.

“Hi Dean,” Sam croaked.

“Sam,” Dean whispered. “You look horrible.”

“I’m the king of hell, Dean. What did you expect?” Sam absentmindedly played with the lining on the table.

“Well, obviously it’s not gonna be roses and singalongs, but _Sammy_ , you’ve gotta take care of yourself.”

Sam’s tired, bloodshot eyes looked around the building, the hum of hustle and bustle covering the small scene happening.

“Just come back to the bunker, I can have you back here in a few hours, you can shower and get a few hours of shut-eye. And-“ Dean began, begging, sounding more gruff (panicked, desperate) than he’d intended.

“No, Dean. You know I can’t.”

“Why not?! It’s not that far!” Dean exclaimed. A few customers glanced over as Dean ducked his head and remember to breathe.

Sam sighed, and Dean realized just how tired Sam really was. “I don’t have a choice, Dean! I didn’t choose any of this, you know that. Besides,” he looked down, and Dean heard the ghost of the joints in his spine crack in protest. “If I get too far from the portal, I won’t be able to keep it open.” Dean stared at Sam, stared until Sam began to squirm. “What?”

“You’re... keeping that open? With your mind?” Dean’s voice was raw.

“Well, yeah. I do a lot of things with my mind. The demons don’t just control themselves.” Sam mumbled.

Dean honestly, _he’s so stupid,_ hadn’t even considered Sam was using his powers in hell. But how could he _not_? That’s what they were meant for, after all.

“I gotta go, but... I’ll see ya in a year.” Sam stood, tired and exhausted, and left the diner.

Dean went outside, looked into the distance for the long-gone shimmery giveaway of the portal, fell to his knees and puked.

xxx

He wasn’t prepared for year 4.

Dean pulled into the parking lot, already shaking. He pulled the door open, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Sam had already arrived. Dean could see from the back of him, he was just skin and bones, hair had been chopped up to resemble Sam’s old cut, but was a poor impersonation. Why was Sam already here?

The neon coloring from the sign bounced off Sam’s body as Dean walked towards the table.

“Sam?” Dean tried, sitting down.

Sam didn’t look up. His hands were held closely to his chest, shaking so bad they resembled epileptic seizures.

“Sammy?” Dean tried again _(its been a whole year its been a whole year its been a whole year)_. “Are you ok?” Sam jerked up, skeletal face realizing Dean had arrived.

 _Gaunt_ , ran through Deans mind. _Skinny and dull and gaunt._

“Dean?”

“Sam... what happened to you?” Dean looked him up and down, sliding into the booth across.

“I don’t have much time Dean,” Sam desperately said, looking as if his skull would shake right off his shoulders. “Listen — I’m not gonna see you next year, or even for a while.”

Dean felt panic in his heart, clawing up his esophagus and threatening to close his airway.

“Sam, talk to me-“

“I’ve been trying to divide my time between two worlds; this one and hell. It’s tearing me apart, Dean. Time works different down there. I’m losing myself pretty quickly. I can’t remember th-things. I barely remembered to meet you today. The demons demand too much of me, of my time. I’m sorry.”

“Sam wait-“ Dean was definitely going to puke. “Wait just a minute, we can-“

“Dean. I ha-have to go. If I can, I’ll try to reach out. Thanks for everything. I love you.” Sam urgently rushed, then stumbled out of the door, leaving bloody handprints on the frame.

Sam was always a constant for Dean, even when he ran away to Stanford. He was always there, and now, Dean had nothing.

xxx

Year five, Dean still went to Flo’s. Sat in that booth for hours, foot tapping and bouncing and jumping at any sound of the door bell.

But Sam never showed.

And the hole in Dean’s heart was agape.

xxx


	2. Carve Your Name On My Soul (And I’ll Never Leave)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Only one time did Sam let Hell hear him cry, let his sobs echo off the stalagmite formations and travel dark and heavy throughout the palace — and that was today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok friends, couple of things:
> 
> First! Thanks for all the kudos! I don’t even know any of you but I already appreciate y’all so much. 
> 
> Second! This is part 2 to ‘Write Your Name On My Heart (And That’ll Be The End)’ aaand I’m really not sure that this chapter does it justice, but I’m going to post it anyways because I’m wild like that ;)
> 
> Third! I’ve been really keen to the whole BoyKing!Sam thing lately, so you can probably expect to see a few more of those on the way. 
> 
> Ok, that’s all for now. Happy reading!

Mildly, Sam felt time slip by.

Time worked differently in Hell, and the transition was, well, hell. 

Sam realized quickly that part of him was never him; part of him was always owned by Hell and now, Hell has claimed what’s hers. 

He could feel the heat and red-hot flames bounce off his irises, the black holes of his eyes entranced on Hell’s belly. 

He was caught in a landslide of feeling everything and nothing all at once, and he wanted to vomit. 

_ Hail, _ the demons screamed. _Our king_. 

He tried to keep his head above the water and breathe. Hell was expansive but all he felt was suffocation. 

Some days, he felt like he was melting, his brain made no sense but screaming and he needed to consume a red bull and have a nap for years and years. 

And preferably never wake up. 

_ ‘How long have I been here? Dean!’ _

He tried to piece his skin together, smooth out the creases and stop the burning and calm his mind. Going topside, if only for a day, was difficult, but if it meant he got to see Dean again, he’d do it.

Anything.

His bones creaked and tried to crumble as he formulated a portal. The shimmering brightness threatened to blind him, but he wasn’t afraid. 

Hell manifested itself on him. In his body. Through his skin and tried to create a monster out of his cells.

And Sam tried to be resilient. He really did. 

Because Hell took and took and took and burnt Sam into the ground, but Sam had something to fight for.  _ Dean. _

Once he was topside, he felt different. Better. At peace. 

But still burning. 

_Oklahoma is nice this time of year_ , Sam thought as he glanced through the window of the small diner titled ‘Flo’s’ and found Dean, nervously bouncing his knee and looking green. 

Sam smiled. He hadn’t seen him since he descended to the throne a year ago. 

Same old Dean, same nervous tick, same scrunched and brooding eyebrows. 

At that moment, Sam’s heart burst into a million pieces. 

Dean would always be there. Always a constant for him, and Sam knew he could never be there for Dean like Dean was for him (and that thought alone made him sick). 

He took a deep breath, walked into the diner, and didn’t look back, leaving his shattered and aching heart on the sidewalk. 

xxx

Year 2 was different for Sam. 

After reuniting with Dean, he felt rejuvenated, if that was even possible in his circumstances. 

Instead of just ‘holding on to the railing and riding this out’ as he had originally planned, he took charge. Tightened his charred belt and stopped resisting the blackness that threatened to fill the whites of his eyes. He finally got a grip. 

He also started torturing. 

Hooks and whips and knives and chains; Sam wasn’t picky about his weapon, he just wanted the screams and cries and gurgles and  _ deaths. _

He was alight with a fire he didn’t know existed. Alight with a passion he didn’t know was possible. 

But, Sam’s gung-ho attitude quickly wore him out. He felt like he was going to dissipate into thin air and dry up, but he finally had what Hell required of him: domination. 

Then, a year’s time was up; Dean was waiting for him, and he knew where he had to be; so, he drew strength from within himself and formulated a portal straight to podunk, Oklahoma. 

It was time for him to go home to Dean, if only for a day. 

xxx

Tired. 

_ Tiredtiredtired. _

In his tissues. His bones. His organs. Even his fingernails and the ligaments of his shoulders. 

An ache with a pain no medication could ever wipe away, no cure or remedy to be found. 

This wasn’t a worldly type of fatigue. It was Hell’s way of saying  _ ’this is the price you pay, the price of being you’. _

This would be his third time meeting with Dean, and he honestly didn’t know if he could do it. 

But Dean  ( _caring, brash, wild and beautiful and brave Dean_ ) would be there,  _ always, _ and Sam had to keep up his end of the deal. 

So he went. He pulled from Hell’s strength to create his portal, focused his mind to keep it functioning until he got back, and he went. 

And he saw Dean. Dean noticed his physical decline, of course, because it was  _ Dean, _ and he notices everything. 

Only one time did Sam let Hell hear him cry, let his sobs echo off the stalagmite formations and travel dark and heavy throughout the palace — and that was today. 

xxx

Thoughts were hard. Words were impossible at this point. 

Sam had become undone. 

Sam had become undone because Hell had become undone. 

It was chaos, but it was Hell’s version of chaos, which was complete and utter anarchy. It was such madness that Sam could taste it in the air, thick and metal-tasting.

When the demons were angry, Sam, by default, was also angry. But he was too tired to be angry. 

What few demons were actually reasonable and not completely vile were attempting to calm the masses that were revolting, but it wasn’t doing much help. 

A few hours in, Sam had used up all of his energy mentally containing the demons — his next resort was to draw from Hell’s power, which he hated doing; it made him feel like Hell was winning, like Sam had no control over his life anymore. 

And, he could hear Lucifer’s malicious laugh from the cage, miles and miles away. 

Sam was over it. 

But then, he remembered. 

_Dean._

Having no idea what year it was, and having no idea what time it was, and knowing time worked slower, muggier on Earth, Sam trusted in his gut and he knew it was time. 

Using what little strength he had left, he forced the demons back with his mind and laid out giant, erupting flames of fire around their perimeter. That should contain them enough for him to meet with Dean. 

_ Dean. My Dean.  _

Instead of easing out of the portal like usual, he crawled out, hand and knees and all. The metamorphic rocks were unforgiving on his hands, scratching and cutting them up. Distantly, he erratically thought  _ ‘I like the blood dripping down my fingers, makes me feel real again’.  _ Dean would be disappointed. 

Speaking of Dean, he hadn’t arrived yet. Sam’s mind went red.  ‘ _He’s forgot, he’s forgotten about me, my Dean, the only thing I have. He knows I’m crazy, he knows and now I have nothing.’_

But Dean arrived. Like always. He’s too good for Sam. 

Because Sam deserves nothing. He’s Hell’s King. He’s tainted and dirty and nothing. 

Sam got outta there quick, said a quick goodbye and ran. 

Because he couldn’t face Dean’s disappointment. Couldn’t tell Dean he was never going to be the same again. Hell had officially ruined him; made a home out of the hole in his heart (the hole he wanted Dean to fill) and now he’s buried. 

In his palace, Sam lets the dark take him for good. 

xxx

Sam didn’t know if Dean showed up for the fifth time. Sam didn’t.  Even if he tried to leave, he knew it wouldn’t be possible. Hell needed him, as much as he hated to admit it, and leaving now would cause unrest amongst his demons, and he couldn’t afford another revolt. He simply wouldn’t live through another one. 

Completely consumed by darkness and a slave to his throne, he dreamt. 

He dreamt of cheeseburgers, of grass and beers and Oklahoma and Dean’s smile, wide and white and  real.

Because whatever Dean was doing, it was better than being here; and Sam had ensured that. 


	3. Draw Your Name On My Spine (And I’ll Support You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Six years of Dean’s heart aching, a constant bruise on the skin above, making every day, every hour, seem like hell without Sam. 
> 
> Irony at its finest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I’m back! 
> 
> This is the third chapter of this series, and honestly, it’s safe to say that there’s officially a fourth and final chapter in the works. 
> 
> This chapter is all Dean’s POV. 
> 
> Ok, happy reading!

Dean sighed, swiping a hand over his tired, stubbled face and tossed the box of silver bullets in Baby’s trunk blindly, the rain slightly hindering his vision. 

While Dean may have cussed the rain, he was grateful for the relief it brought; Oklahoma’s heat was splintering in mid-July, even  _ Dean _ could barely handle it. He could have left the state if he wanted to, gone to the Dakotas to see Bobby, Lord knows it’s not nearly as sweltering there during the summer. 

Couldn’t seem to leave Oklahoma, though. 

When there was a rugaru or vampire nest that needed to be taken care of in California or the Rockies, Dean always made sure someone was on top of it. 

But not him. 

Also, he was still wary about demons. 

Sam could have at least sent one, as a messenger or something. While Dean definitely didn’t want to see one, it would have been nice to know that Sam was okay down there. 

It’s been six years. 

Six whole years since Dean had seen Sam. 

Six years of Dean’s heart aching, a constant bruise on the skin above, making every day, every hour, seem like hell without Sam. 

Irony at its finest. 

Sometimes, Dean wondered how his heart kept on beating. 

Heading back to the motel, listening to the quiet purr of Baby’s engine, Dean felt the nerves. He hated July. He couldn’t help it. 

July took what was most important to him, and July wouldn’t seem to give it back. 

So yeah, July was his least favorite month. 

His shower was quick. He threw on his typical jeans, took a shot of whiskey, and set out on that mostly-dirt road that ran through soft fields of green to Flo’s diner. 

Every year, on the exact day, Dean sat in the same small booth with the same forlorn hope that maybe,  _ maybe _ __this year, Sam would be able to come. He’d walk in, see Sam at that booth, their reunion would be embarrassingly public but Dean wouldn’t care one bit because _it was Sam,_ and Sam deserves the whole world and more, and they would laugh and cry and Dean would strap him into Baby and they’d get as far away from Oklahoma as Baby would take them and everything would be okay again. 

The most heartbreaking part? He knew Sam wouldn’t show. 

Wouldn’t or couldn’t, Dean didn’t know. Didn’t want to find out. He wanted to think it was ‘couldn’t’. Hoped it wasn’t ‘wouldn’t’. 

But Dean was no dummy; he knew Hell needed Sam, knew Sam thrived there (even if Sam would never admit it). 

So here he was, five years of this already under his belt. Maybe it would be easier already having done this five times. 

It wasn’t. The sixth was just as difficult. 

Dean walked through the door, the happy, too familiar jingle of the bell ringing in his ears like a war veteran’s ptsd. 

He climbed into the same booth, glancing at the ripped laminate just to make sure. Reminded himself to breathe. Blinked a few extra times to get the perspiration out of his eyes. Breathed again. Ordered some eggs for Sam (that he knew would go untouched, even if by some miracle Sam did show up) and ordered himself a burger (and he knew whatever was consumed would be thrown up later). And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

Watched the restaurant go from high noon lunchtime to preparing for their 5:00 dinner rush. 

And then, Sam walked through the door. 

And he looked surprisingly, well, like himself. 

Forty pounds lighter and his eyes were sunken into his face, but had a light walk and a small upturn of his lips. 

And Dean’s heart stopped. 

He felt his literal heart stop beating. 

Because his whole entire world was standing in front of him, and he couldn’t remember how to  _function._

“Dean.” Sam’s whispered in awe, frozen a few feet away.

Dean felt his cells, aligning towards Sam’s body, six years missing but Dean’s body acclimating already. He couldn’t speak. But somehow he did. 

“Sam?” Dean’s voice cracked on the vowel. 

“Can I sit?” Sam asked, gesturing towards the booth. 

“Y-yeah.” 

Sam sat slowly, looked around in curiosity. “I haven’t seen this place in years.”

“Sam,” Dean’s eyes filled with tears even though he willed them not to. “Where have you been?” Sam looked down at his hands, almost like he was being scolded, and Dean noticed the cuts and scrapes and scars and bruises that covered his hands and ran up his wrists to where the sleeves of his shirt began. 

“Dean,” Dean jerked his head back up to Sam’s face when he heard that awful noise Sam made, raw and vulnerable and _sad._ “I’ve missed you so, so much.”

And just like that, Dean’s heart was healed. 

Because Sam still cares. And Sam still loves him. 

And that’s all that really matters. 

xxx

“So, when do you have to go back?” Dean asked in between fries. 

“Well, I’m not sure I do.” Dean’s fork clattered to the table, him scrambling to pick it up and looking up at Sam in shock. 

Four plates of eggs gone and a mountain of fries in between them, they felt at home. At peace. 

Finally. 

“Y-you don’t? Why not? Aren’t you, like, holding all of Hell together down there? What happens if you just don’t go back?”

“Well, the last few years I haven’t been here because I was physically unable to leave. Last time I saw you, I could feel myself... losing it, mentally, so I... ya know. Ended it before you could see me turn into a _monster._ It was like, I was too overwhelmed with feeling what Hell was feeling that I was held captive, but I was also running the place. I just felt... dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah like, I had black eyes, and my mouth grew rows and rows of teeth. At one point, all the skin rotted off my body and I was just bones. Nasty stuff man,” Sam shuddered, wiping his ketchup fingers. “But, I think my body acclimated. I’m not… sick anymore.”

Dean cringed at the thought of Sam’s skin doing anything but remaining safely on his body. 

“So, you can come home?” Dean asked hopefully (the tears were back, large, like waiting for a dam to burst). 

“I think so.” Sam looked up at Dean and smiled, a real smile that reached his bloodshot eyes and created dimples. “I mean, I’m still the King of Hell, but I can rule from up here for a little bit, and then go down to check on things in a few days. I think I’m powerful enough now, and I’ve established a strict reign, so most of the demons down there respect me now.”

“What about the ones that don’t?” Dean asked, more focused on the fact that Sam was here, and not what he does with naughty demons. 

“I.... don’t think you want to know the answer to that one.” Dean looked up from his nearly-empty plate, seeing the sadness and disgust that lay in Sam’s eyes, overflowing and radiating off of him. 

“Sam,” Dean reached over and grabbed his hand sitting on the table. It was dark out, and the neon-glow signs were vibrantly giving off a soft-green hue across the diner, reflecting off the tears brimming in Sam’s eyes. “I don’t care what you did, Sam. Doesn’t matter.”

“Dean, I killed people. Lots. Probably thousands. How does that make me any better than what I’m killing?” 

“Sam, you did what you had to do down there. It doesn’t change how I look at you. You’re still my little brother and I’ll take care of you. I got you, ok? I’m here.” Dean felt his heart patter, pressure crawling up his esophagus and grabbing onto his tongue and pushing on his voice box. 

“I’m gonna go pay for this, and then we’re getting the hell outta dodge.” 

And as Dean was getting up from the table, he saw Sam’s small smile and knew he was home.  
  



	4. Paint Your Name On My Skin (And I’ll Love You Forever)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “While Sam knew it felt right to be underground, in the fire and brimstone, he knew it felt more right to be here, on the softness of the mattress, with Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Welcome back :)
> 
> Alright, this is officially the last chapter for this story. I could have wrote more, but I’m too afraid of ruining the original story I had in my brain, but the good news is you can expect more for me :) 
> 
> *disclaimer: I was trying to be so consistent with my pov’s but I just couldn’t make this one happen... sooo this story flips pov’s. I couldn’t start this story with Dean and not end it with Dean too. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting and kudo-ing. You guys are truly the best!

Under the stars, Dean looked at the black vast sky full of nothing, miles and miles of darkness. Sam’s breath was steady next to him, staring into the stars. Dean could see them reflect in his eyes, little white dots of hope. 

He felt the,  the _emptiness_ of it all. 

He didn’t like it, anymore. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean saw Sam’s head turn to him, saw his mouth open and close in indecisiveness. 

“You look older, Dean.” He finally said. Dean looked at him. 

“Yeah, well you look....” Dean trailed, thinking.  _Heartsick. Worn. Sad. Distant. Beautiful. Real and here and I love you and I’ve missed you so much, Sammy._ “Tired.” Is what Dean settled with,  _coward_. 

Sam paused, looked away, let his eyes get distant. Dean saw the serpentine-like motion in them, the accidental flare of red, depicting a whole array of emotions. 

Dean knew what he was thinking. But he wouldn’t let him say it, so he laid his hand on top of Sam’s and willed the words to go away. 

xxxxxx

“I have to go back.”

He had to. 

He’d been topside for a week, a wonderful, pleasurable, relaxful week, a week full of Dean and Dean and  _ Dean. _

But he had to go back. Just to check on things. 

Also, he could feel Hell calling him like a hungry infant, begging for its mama. 

He didn’t like that analogy. 

“Absolutely not.” Dean said with a  _ clunk _ of his glass on the nightstand. The mattress groaned as he sat up on his elbows, jaw set in place. 

“Dean,” Sam started. “You know what I am, and I can’t just  _ stop _ doing my job.”

“Sam, I just got you back. It’s been six years since I’ve seen you. Six years since I got to talk to you.” Dean looked down, brows scrunched in worry. “What if you get hurt? I can’t come find you down there, Sam.” Dean was full sitting position now, arms gesturing angrily. 

“Dean, I was down there for six years. I know how to handle the masses.” Sam slinked off the worn sheets, setting his socked-feet on the wood. “Besides, time works differently down there. To you, I’ll only be gone for a couple hours.” 

“I can’t bear to lose you again.” Dean whispered. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, rubbing his shoulder blades to release some of the built-up tension there. Dean leaned his forehead on Sam’s, matching their breathing. “Sam. If you’re not back in 24 hours, I’m going to find a demon and force him to take me to hell, and then I’m gonna rip you a new one in front of all your demon subordinates and it’s going to be embarrassing for you.”

Sam smiled, totally denying any thought that he was  _ teary _ because it felt  _ nice _ to have someone  _ care about him.  _

“Ok, Dean.”

While Sam knew it felt  _ right _ to be underground, in the fire and brimstone, he knew it felt  _ more right  _ to be here, on the softness of the mattress, with Dean. 

Sam knew that Dean was more ‘Sam’ than he was, and whatever their souls were made of, it was the same. 

He knew his worth, and he paid for it dearly,but Dean? He’d do anything for. 

But first, he had to go back to Hell. 

xxxxxx

This time, the portal Sam chose wasn’t in Oklahoma. It was about a 2-hour drive north from their bunker, clouded with trees and foliage and fog. 

“This is creepy as hell, Sam.” Dean mumbled, trekking through the dense forest floor. 

Ahead, Sam couldn’t admit that the closer they got to the portal, the more  _ at home _ he felt. Dean was Sam’s home, _ of course, _ but this,  _this was different._ His cells began to alight, his brain whirling with power. He could smell them, it, Hell. 

It took all of 5 minutes to actually hike there. Dean was huffing, but Sam knew it wasn’t because of exhaustion. 

“Ok.”

“We’re here?” Dean looked around. 

“Yeah.” He felt his eyes gloss over, fingertips tingling, his tainted blood  _ whooshing _ in his ears. He mumbled a small incantation and the shimmer appeared. Sam’s heart raced. He turned to look at Dean. 

“I don’t feel good about this.” Dean sighed. “But, it’s Hell. How could I?” He grabbed Sam’s shoulders. “Show ‘em who’s boss, Sammy.”

Between the existential scene that was playing out in his head, Sam smiled at Dean. “I’ll be back soon.”

And then, Dean’s heart was gone through the portal. 

And all he could do was wait. 

xxxxxx

Sam felt his cheeks hollow out, the blackness in his iris’ taking over, growing and mixing red. His nail beds crumbled to ash, the skin on his arms and legs and neck hardened and cracked. 

He was home. 

A nasty roar ripped out of his throat, echoing off the stalagmite formations that encircled the hundreds of miles of Hell, quieting the screamers. 

Then,

_ King, _ they chanted, hauntingly humble. _ Our King, hail. Blessed be thy name. _

And Sam smiled, the fire and brimstone glow shimmering off of pointed teeth. 

And exactly 24 hours later, Dean’s time, the portal spit the creature wearing Sam’s clothes out. 

xxxxxx

Completely covered in blood, Sam was quiet the ride home. 

Sated and smiling, but quiet still. 

As to why Sam was completely drenched in red fluid was beyond Dean, or who’s it was, or where it came from — there really wasn’t an answer offered from the younger brother. 

And Dean didn’t find the courage to ask. 

But Dean did make him sit on the old comforter stolen from a motel dive years ago,  _ of course, _ __pulled it out of the trunk with shaking hands and tried to convince Sam to strip to avoid any accidental casualties of blood vs. leather seats, but to no avail.

Dean even offered to stop and grab food, but Sam just mumbled a response, eyes too far gone out the window to acknowledge Dean’s concerned glances. 

Upon arrival at the bunker, Sam seemed to come back; stopped being so robot-y and started being more Sam-y. 

He looked at his arms in disbelief, attempting to wipe the redness from them, but now the blood had dried in patches. 

He shuffled to their unofficial, shared room, Dean quietly but obviously in tow behind.

Sam slowly,  _ sorely, _ __took his bloodied shirt off, the bunkers yellow lights giving an ominous, sort of glow on the demolished skin of Sam’s back.

Dean, shocked, made his way across the roomin a daze, looking at Sam’s scarred skin. On his shoulders, his arms and ran all the way to his elbows and more. 

“Honestly” Sam’s voice was reverent, hoarse. “I don’t know if my skin will heal. That’s the price I have to pay, I guess. There isn’t a handbook to tell you how to deal with the toll that Hell takes on your physical body.” 

Dean felt tears coming out of his eyes before he could even register them. 

“Sam... I’m so sorry.” He grabbed Sam’s shoulders (lightly, carefully,  _ always) _ in earnest, gently easing Sam around to face him. “I was supposed to protect you, that’s what I promised dad. Look at you now, Sam. I’ve failed you, and I love you so much, and that’s what makes it worse, because you are the only thing in this world that matters to me, and I couldn’t do a damn thing, and I’m so, so sorry Sammy, I-“ and then Dean felt Sam’s lips on his, slanted and dry, copper-tasting, but right nonetheless. 

And everything was going to be okay. 

xxxxxx

Later, tucked under a sherpa, buffalo checkered blanket, listening to the crackle of the wood-burning stove, their hands touched. 

“You look older, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, you look....” Dean trailed, thinking.  _ Heartsick. Worn. Sad. Distant. Beautiful. Real and here and I love you and I’ve missed you so much, Sammy.  _

A year ago, a few days ago, Dean would have settled for ‘tired’ but now, Dean couldn’t afford to waste any more time. 

So he said it. 

He said it all, and painted the contents of his soul on Sam’s skin, letting every feeling wash over them like those red Oklahoma rainstorms. 

And Dean had never felt more content in his life. 

And all was good because they were finally together. 

And now, not even Hell could tear them apart. 


End file.
